


Boredom Overtook Us

by KaelaByte



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddling, Frottage, I suck at titles, M/M, Smut, Some angst, and tags, handjobs, i dunno, kind of PWP, might get a plot soon, texting adorableness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelaByte/pseuds/KaelaByte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is getting bored and attempts to draw John into game. However, it winds up ending rather differently then he had imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first attempt at writing a fanfic (other than a short 500 word one for a Tumblr user). So feel free to critique and offer suggestions, or praise. It is based off an RP I am doing with consultingharlequin (lots of thanks for putting up with my awkwardness in RPing). No warnings yet, but who knows, this may change. Rated Explicit for future content.
> 
> Beta'd by spectra-electra from Tumblr.
> 
> Also, if you have an idea for fixing the summary, I am all ears. I cannot write a summary to save my life.

Pacing around the room, Sherlock searched for a way to entertain himself. Flipping through the pile of case files left on John’s desk did no good, each was either moronically simple or already solved. Yelling in frustration,Sherlock grabbed a cup sitting on the table and threw it at the wall, grinning as it shattered. Unfortunately this distraction lasted less than a minute. Flicking his phone open, he decided to text John; maybe he could find a way to occupy his time for a while.

_John, I need you to come home at once. – SH_

Sending the text, Sherlock paced around the room, glancing at his phone every few moments, until he heard the chime showing that he had a new text.

_I’m working. –JW_

Sighing, Sherlock tried again, settling onto the couch to text.

_But I’m bored, John. I’ve already finished the cases your silly blog brought us,and I have nothing to do. - SH_

_How’s that my problem? Or, wait. Don’t answer that. I know you’ll make it my problem. But I’m at work, and I’m busy. -JW_

_Fine. Then I shall just find some way to amuse myself. - SH_

_Don’t destroy anything. -JW_

_You don’t need that old Christmas jumper, do you? – SH_

Several minutes went by without a response, so Sherlock decided to start in on his new experiment. Gathering up the jumper from John’s bedroom, along with a few shirts of his own, he quickly placed everything onto the table, shredding the different materials into strips. A short time later his phone chimed.

_It’s awful, but Harry gave it to me. Paws off. –JW_

Chuckling as he read John’s message, he quickly typed out a response, setting the phone aside as he finished up his final tests, while ignoring the chimes it made periodically.

Too late, I’ll send my apologies some other time. By the way, I’m going to need some more thread, so please pick it up on your way home. - SH

Settling back in his chair, Sherlock hummed contentedly. His experiment had gone far better than he had ever thought it would; unfortunately his euphoria was interrupted by yet another chime from John. Frowning, he checked the message he had missed, sighing as John’s messages got more and more frantic.

_What did you do? –JW_

_Sherlock, what are you doing? – JW_

_Sherlock! – JW_

_For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, answer your phone, you can’t just leave a conversation like that! – JW_

Thinking over his next course of action, he paused a moment before grinning, typing out his response:

_Just an experiment, John. If you really wanted to know, you would have come home. – SH_

_Sherlock! I have a job! A job I intend to keep! -JW_

_Your job is dull. You would be far more useful helping me at home. - SH_

_Well, perhaps you should consider it your job, then. It would make life much easier for me! - SH_

_That wouldn’t bring in any money. And since you do most of your cases for free, our income depends on my work. -JW_

_What if I asked for payment for cases? Would you quit your job then? - SH_

_Why on Earth would I quit my job? -JW_

_Because I asked nicely, isn’t that how you tell me to ask? - SH_

_No, Sherlock. -JW_

_Why don’t you quit yours? -JW_

_Because mine is more important, and less dull. - SH_

_I’ve worked hard to get this job! -JW_

_Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are more useful to me than you are to them. - SH_

_I’m not going to quit. What do you even need me for? -JW_

_… I don’t know yet, but I’m sure I will. Until then, you can find me something to do. - SH_

_Why don’t you try seeing how long you can hold your breath? Or how long it takes to run around the entire city? -JW_

_Boring, John. Besides, I have found your gun; if you want it back you will have to get it. - SH_

_I have the bullets. -JW_

_Your hostage attempt doesn’t work. -JW_

_I wouldn’t be so sure. I doubt you took all the bullet you have to work, after all, if someone found them on you it would be a bit hard to explain **.**  - SH_

_  
_When John didn't answer a smile spread across Sherlock's face, and he chuckled, of course John was bluffing.

_I'd recomend that you come get them before I find them John. - SH_

_Oh **,**  for the love of god. -JW_

_FINE! I’ll just let my boss know my flatmate’s threatening to start shooting. -JW_

_Good, but the game is still on. I’d hurry if I were you, John. - SH_

_Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. -JW_

Thrilled with his new distraction, Sherlock quickly began scourig John's bedroom, figuring they would be in there, away from where he normally prowlled while bored. 


	2. The Setup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the "Boredom Overtook Us" story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to fix up a few things in the fic that weren't right, never found someone to Britpick my story so thankfully your AO3 people are willing to do small amounts. It is based off an RP I am doing with consultingharlequin (lots of thanks for putting up with my awkwardness in RPing). No warnings yet, but who knows, this may change. Rated Explicit for future content.
> 
> Beta'd by spectra-electra from Tumblr.
> 
> Also, if you have an idea for fixing the summary, I am all ears. I cannot write a summary to save my life.

Hearing John's keys in the front door Sherlock tried one last spot, laughing as he saw the clip hidden behind one of the books on the shelf. Stuffing it into his pocket he quickly tried to compose himself, erasing the remnatns of a smirk off his face. Sitting himself in his armchair he waited for his flatmate to enter.  
  
Throwing the door open John stomped up the stairs, glaring at Sherlock as he entered. "Give it here." he barked, advancing on the taller man. Frowing as Sherlock refused. "You've had your fiun, now hand the gun over."

Raising an eyebrow Sherlock looked pointedly at John's hand, still stretched in the air between them. A small smile began tuggin at the corners of his lips as he stood, suddenly towering over the smaller man. "I'm dissapointed John. I had really hoped you might win this game." he smirked, pulling the clip out of his pocket, twisting it through his fingers. 

"It's not quite fair to play this game when it is obvious you would have found the bullets, you never would have made a bet you couldn't pay. Now please. Hand. Them. Over." John grit out.

"I never said I played fair." he teased, watching the tension in John’s shoulders increase. This was certainly more interesting than watching the telly.

"When would you?" John’s jaw tensed and he counted to ten, waiting for Sherlock to give him the bullets. He made it to six and a half before jumping to his feet and grasping at the clip.

Sherlock allowed John to take it from him, deciding that riling John too much further would be counterproductive.

John gave Sherlock one last glare before moving over to the chest of drawers he usually kept his gun in, opening the clip as he walked, and peeking inside. He frowned. “Is this all of the bullets?”

"Of course." he replied, looking John in the eyes. He couldn’t help but be distracted by the set of his shoulders, though — it was obvious Sherlock had truly annoyed him this time; John was holding a soldier’s stance, something he rarely did when confronting his flatmate.

John rolled his eyes and opened a drawer with more force than necessary,dropping the item inside. His entire body screamed of not believing a word Sherlock said (he knew his flatmate far too well, and could’ve sworn Sherlock had hidden at least a few bullets for the next time he got bored), but currently, he couldn’t bring himself to give a crap. As he turned to face Sherlock, he looked around the flat judgmentally to see what kind of destruction the detective had caused this time. “Now what did you do to my jumper?”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile at the reminder of his earlier project. He practically bounced over to the kitchen, eager to show John. “You continually wear those hideous jumpers, saying they are cosy. Well, up until now, I have had no proof to refute you. But! After looking at textile strength, durability, and texture of one of your jumpers, I have proven that there is no reason you have to wear them. Satin or silk work just as well as knit, though in different ways,of course.”

On the table were scraps of what might have been John’s old jumper and some others that bore a strong resemblance to a silk top Sherlock himself had worn a few times before.

John started to have a very bad feeling about what was coming as Sherlock started explaining, and he covered his eyes with his hand, rubbing his forehead wearily. Sherlock was worse than a five-year-old suffering from ADHD, and he felt there would be two possible outcomes concerning his hopes for a family: either he would be an excellent parent, or he would never, ever, have kids. He sighed and followed Sherlock to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to stare at what was left of his jumper. It was hideous and he had never worn it, yes, but it was a gift from his sister, and this was a matter of principle. He eyed the scraps suspiciously. “I don’t wear jumpers so Ican play MacGyver, I’m wearing them because they are comfortable. And I’m not going to wear silk, Sherlock. That’s not for me.”

"I never said you had to wear silk." he huffed, upset that John wasn’t more excited about this discovery. “I just said there were other materials.” Using John’s distraction, Sherlock began edging back towards the living room, speaking as he went about the differences in textile strengths.

John resisted an urge to roll his eyes and shake his fists to the skies out of pure frustration. “What do you have against my jumpers?”

"They are hideous and uninspired." Sherlock shot at him. Privately, he thought John was far more interesting than those jumpers would leave you to believe, something he considered a personal offence. Finally backing into the desk, Sherlock used his dialog to cover up the sound of the drawer opening. Quickly pulling the bullet clip out, he began rooting around for the gun.

"Hide—? Sherlock!" John spun around on his heels and stepped back into the living room, pointing a finger at the detective to emphasize his words. “Just because I don’t wear a bloody suit seven days a week doesn’t mean I wouldn’t know how to dress smartly, okay? Jumpers are comfortable and I’m allowed to wear whatever the heck I want when I’m at home!” It was just then that he noticed what Sherlock was doing. “And what are you—? Put that thing away!” He took few quick steps towards the detective and reached to grab the gun. “I’m really not in the mood for your games.”

Grabbing the gun just in time, Sherlock managed to get his arm above his head, easily out of John’s reach. “If you’re not in the mood for games, why did you come home?” he asked, struggling to keep his arm above John while still shielding his body; at this point he wouldn’t put it past John to punch him.

John grimaced and stepped closer to stretch for the gun, grasping Sherlock’s shoulder for support and preventing the man from moving away. “Because I don’t want you to shoot our neighbours through the wall or get arrested! And just so you know—” He tiptoed trying to snatch the gun back, “- when you do, I’m not going to bail you out!”

Twisting away from his colleague, Sherlock tried to wriggle out of John’s grip. However, years of working with the military lent him more strength than Sherlock had first thought, and he only managed to get a few inches of distance. “Of course you would bail me out -” he grumbled, still trying to dislodge his friend, “- besides, if you didn’t I’d just get Mycroft to.” At this last statement, Sherlock’s eyes flicked over to John, wondering if he had gone too far in his assumptions.

"Fine, maybe I would -" John grabbed Sherlock’s elbow trying to force the man to lower his arm, "- but only after you’d sat there for a week or so. And that would be just because I’d feel bad for the guards and your inmates.” That was half true. He’d bail Sherlock out because the man was his friend, and also because he knew Sherlock wouldn’t learn anything even if he was imprisoned. He’d just drive everyone crazy. John moved his foot behind Sherlock’s ankle and yanked to trip the man over. He might as well get rid of the man’s height advantage.

Suddenly he was falling backwards; instinctively he reached out and grabbed at John, only just managing to pull the shorter man down on top of him. They landed in a heap, the gun still gripped in Sherlock’s hand, his arm stretched above his head.

John grunted as he hit the ground, quickly positioning himself to sit on top of Sherlock’s stomach with a knee on either side of the man’s body. He grabbed the detective’s wrist and pinned it to the ground, reaching for the gun with his free hand. “You are a pain in the ass, Sherlock!” His words were angry, but in reality he was never truly mad at his friend, not for long, at least. Yes, Sherlock did seem to spend every second of his free time disturbing John’s work and relationships, but life with the madman was so much more interesting compared to the one he’d lead before that he could almost forgive him. Not that he’d let it show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not terribly happy with how this turned out, I had to change a few things that I had become rather attached to after discovering some inaccuracies. Hopefully you guys like it a bit better.


	3. The Discovery

Sherlock gasped as his flatmate quickly pinned him to the ground. In all his calculations he had not accounted for this outcome. Pushing his hips up he attempted to push the doctor off him. Unfortunately it did nothing more than give John the leverage needed to twist the gun out of his hand. Growling with frustration Sherlock tried to grab it back.

John jerked the gun free from Sherlock's hand and now it was his turn to keep it out of the other's reach. "I told you not to play these games with me, Sherlock!" He moved the hand that was holding the detective's wrist to hold his elbow instead to ensure the man stayed down.

Glaring at the man above him Sherlock stopped thrashing. "Get off." he commanded, attempting to sit up. After all, John would move when he asked, right?  
John leaned forward using his weight to keep the detective on the floor and tossed the gun on the couch so Sherlock wouldn't be able to take it from him. "Oh, no. You're going to lay there and pay attention." He shook a warning finger at the detective like a teacher scolding his pupil. "Let's make a couple of things clear. I'm a doctor. A bloody good doctor as well, and I've worked hard to become one. So I'm going to work whenever we don't have a case and you are going to live with that! If you need entertainment, get a hobby like normal people do."

Unable to force John off of his mid-drift Sherlock stares at John as he speaks. Unfortunately, he was having a hard time catching his breath as the other man was lecturing him. Allowing his mind to drift from what John was saying he tried to figure out why. There wasn't much weight being put on him, for as sturdy as he was John wasn't heavy. Inspecting himself he catalogued the changes in his behaviour, while looking at John Sherlock could feel his heartbeat speed up, no surprise considering the wrestling match, yet that explanation didn't seem to fit somehow....

"I'd suggest you started doing sports but you already do that enough when you run after criminals, so how about collecting something? Stamps? You like details so there would be plenty. Or start studying something! Languages! Astronomy, history, anything! Or buy a pet. I can picture you with a snake; you'd both be very much alike. Or bees, but those I won't allow inside the flat. I don't really care, as long as you." He paused, staring at Sherlock. He could feel the man breathing under him. Quite distracting, actually. Ahem. "You're not listening a word I say, are you?"

Sherlock looked up as John paused, "Hmm? Oh, yes. Of course I am." he said distractedly, still trying to figure out the sudden symptoms. Letting his head fall back he sighed, setting problem aside for later. Looking back at John raised his eyebrows slightly, wondering if there was more to his speech.

"I hope so, I'm not going to have this conversation again." He licked his lips out of habit and eased his grip on the man's cool wrist. "So, what do you say? Are you going to find a reasonable way of spending your free time or do I need to keep sitting here until you agree? I can do that, Sherlock. Thanks to you I'm in no hurry."

"I thought I had found a reasonable way to spend my time. I solve crimes and keep you from getting bored. Can't say you're doing quite as well on your end." he stated. Feeling John loosen his grip Sherlock began testing the man’s weight once again, focusing on a different problem this time.

"You don't always have cases, like you always tell me. Find something to do that keeps you from getting bored! Play chess! Or design and build a rocket and launch yourself to the moon for all I care. I'm supposed to help you pay the rent, not work as your personal jester--" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was tense. What was it he'd been thinking earlier? Yes. Definitely distracting. "Could you. Keep still?"

Stopping in his quest to free his hips, he glanced back up at John curiously, "Why? You're not letting me up so I need to figure out how to get unstuck from this situation." he said, turning his attention back to his elbow. John had almost let go of it, as long as Sherlock didn't make any sudden moves, he might let down his guard.  
"I'll let you up the moment you promise to stop trying to get me fired!" His ears had started to turn red and he moved his weight to his knees. Having Sherlock squirm under him was making him extremely uncomfortable, and even for that he blamed the detective. If Sherlock hadn't dedicated his life to ruining John's relationships there wouldn't be this problem. Damn it. Just....damn it. He wasn't going to let his friend and flatmate and the most irritating man in the whole wide world to embarrass him like this. "So which is it?"

'Finally' Sherlock thought to himself, feeling John shift his wait back slightly. He quickly twisted his arm up grabbing hold of John's wrist as he threw himself forward, knocking John back, his legs still caught slightly under Sherlock's. Situating himself on John's hips, he lazily reached over and grabbed the other hand, fully restraining his room-mate. Smiling he looked down at John, "I win." he declared, not caring that he had been pinned just seconds before

John let out a surprised yelp as Sherlock yanked himself free, and the back of his head smashed painfully to the floor as their positions changed. "Ack! Sherlock!" He grimaced and glared at the taller man, trying to twist his hands free. "Win? What, are you still playing the game? Let me go! You don't want me to hurt you!" He kicked his legs trying to find a foothold on the floor but failed.

Laughing at the threat, Sherlock continued to smirk down at John. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to have this much fun. john was always so busy now a-days. Suddenly remembering the noise Johns head made a moment ago, he switched his grip so both of John’s wrists were in his right hand, reaching around with his left to make sure he hadn't hurt John too bad.

John leered at the man and his smug face and smile and cheekbones and wanted to punch him, except he probably wouldn't. He tilted his head to avoid Sherlock's hand. "Can you just…move? You've had your fun." Sherlock's weight on his hips wasn't making the situation any better, and there was a faint blush on his cheeks.

Ignoring John's attempts to get away, Sherlock pressed his hand against the sandy hair. No blood, though some tenderness he noted as John hissed slightly at the pressure. Satisfied that he was ok Sherlock began to lean back, growing bored with this game, until he noticed that John was acting strangely. Settling back on his haunches he gazed at the man trapped below him. 'Increased heart-rate, dilated pupils....' Taking note of each irregularity, he began comparing it to his episode earlier, ignoring Johns muttered oaths.

John huffed at the touch and twisted his wrists to free them. Sherlock's fuss was both slightly irritating (the entire wrestling episode was mainly his fault anyway) and highly unnecessary. John wouldn't probably even have a bump the following day, even though hitting his head always felt nasty. Unpleasant was also the detective's silence, and he swallowed nervously. Had he noticed? God, hopefully not. That would be embarrassing. Sherlock would probably 'obvious' him about biology and natural needs and whatnot and then forget about it, but John would remember it. He took a deep breath and returned Sherlock's intense stare, knowing by the look that he was currently being deduced. God damn it “Sherlock. Please. Get off."

John continued to squirm beneath him, forcing Sherlock to scoot back slightly to stop his legs from moving. "Why should I get off? You weren't going to get off of me. Besides I'm busy right now, so please shush."

"I was going to, I only needed you to promise to respect me as a doctor and the work I do!" His cheeks flushed deeper red and he stopped moving, taking a deep breath to calm down. What's with Sherlock and his ignorance? Guy rule number one: Don't touch the crotch! "Busy with what, exactly?"

"Watching." he replied. Slowly an idea was forming, but it seemed far-fetched, even for him. Certainly some tests were needed. Letting go of johns hands Sherlock pushed lightly on his chest, holding him in place. Once he was certain John wasn't moving Sherlock raised his weight off of John, resting on his knees. Instantly the blush started to fade slightly from his cheeks. It looked like he had managed to find a new experiment, completely by accident. Sherlock’s mind began racing as he considered the tests he would need to do.


	4. The Surrender

Watson stared up at the dark-haired man above him, "Watching? Surely you can do that elsewhere." He complained grabbing Sherlock's wrists and tried to push them away from his chest where they were sure to feel his heart pounding against his ribs. He wasn't even sure why he was reacting like a bloody teenager; this was Sherlock, not a hot lady! He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind, letting out a resigned sigh.

Pulling his hands away from John’s chest Sherlock scooted forward a small amount until he could settle back down on John’s stomach without hurting him. Leaning forward he rested his forehead against John's, taking note of the change in breathing and heart-rate. However, after gathering the data, he didn't seem to want to pull away.  
John gasped and protested half-heartedly when Sherlock leaned closed and closed his eyes to avoid looking at the man as their foreheads touched. He breathed in the man's scent and felt his warmth and weight on top of him. "What are you doing?" He whispered, the closeness making it unnecessary to talk aloud.

John's voice shocked him out of his reverie, and he quickly settled back. "John. Do you remember that conversation we had at Angelo's, the night Mrs Wilson was murdered?" Keeping his gaze on John's, Sherlock stared down at him, determined to figure this puzzle out.

John wasn't sure if his heart had been listening when he had given Sherlock the lecture on hobbies because right now it seemed to be practicing rumba, stumbling in its steps upon the mention of Angelo's making it skip a beat. He swallowed. "Vividly."

Underneath him John's heart-beat continued to increase, thumping hard against his ribs. For a moment Sherlock forgot what he was going to say as he watched John's obvious discomfort grow by the second. Gathering his thoughts he continued, "It seems you weren't telling the whole truth that night." Trying to swallow past the lump that seems to have lodged itself in his throat, Sherlock tried to figure out what to do with this new information.

Oh _god._ John wiped his face with his now free hand and hoped he could sink under the floor. Somewhere at the back of his mind he found it surprising Sherlock had come closer instead of backing away with disgust, but the doctor was too focused on his own embarrassment to make any deductions. "Oh, Christ. Look, I'm sorry, Sherlock, I don't know why.. just get off me and I'll take ca...Just get off me, okay? I'm really, really sorry. I assure you it doesn't mean anything." And it didn't, right? He wasn't gay. He was just...stimulated. By Sherlock. Who had also made sure none of the women he'd dated had wanted to hear from him again, so it was no wonder that he reacted. Perfectly normal. Sherlock…did smell good, though. He bit his lip and moved his hand to Sherlock's shoulder giving him a weak push.

Sherlock gently reached up and pulled at John's hand until he let him clasp it in his own. Keeping his eyes on John's, he bent forward, gently pressing his lips onto those of the man pinned below him, waiting for a sound of disgust to come from the other's throat.

John opened his eyes when Sherlock took his hand and looked at the piercing blue eyes that always made him feel somehow inferior and naked, like Sherlock could see every last one of his thoughts and even more. To his amazement it wasn't an unpleasant feeling and he often found himself adoring the man's brilliance. His thoughts were cut short when he felt the detective's lips on his own and he twitched in surprise. Sherlock's lips were soft, softer than he'd expected, and warm, and there was new strength behind the kiss he hadn't quite experienced with women, not even with the fiercest ones. Still, he couldn't let this continue, this wasn't him, this wasn't supposed to happen! Sherlock was his friend, for god's sake! He pushed Sherlock away from him and avoided his eyes. "Uh, I...I think you misunderstood, Sherlock, I'm sorry, but I'm not. I don’t. I’m sorry."

Uncertain of what to do now, Sherlock sat frozen for a moment before putting on a smile and rising suddenly. Holding his hand out he helped John stand, keeping contact only as long as necessary. "I still win." He murmured, albeit half-heartedly. Glancing around the room he quickly found his violin and, bowing his head slightly to Watson, made his way up to his room.

Once he was alone he stood, violin on his shoulder, but no sound emanating from it. Brushing his fingers lightly across the strings he plucked a small melody as he thought back on what had happened.

John's eyes snapped back at Sherlock when the man suddenly moved away and allowed himself to be helped to his feet without even realizing properly what was happening. He opened his mouth to comment but no words came out, the change in the detective's behaviour was so sudden that he instead found himself staring as Sherlock picked up his violin and dashed off, and John stood still even when the sound of few notes being played could be heard. It was only then when he slowly made his way to the armchair and sat down like his legs had just given up, leaning his head to his hands. He could still feel Sherlock's lips on his own and smell him in every inhale, his heart was racing and his mind was fuzzy. Just what had happened? He crossed his fingers and rested his chin on them. Sherlock had kissed him. Just like that, when he'd noticed John had, whatever. And the mention of their conversation at Angelo's...yeah. Of course. He'd had his suspicions and now they had been confirmed. So Sherlock was gay. Had he thought John had feelings for him? God, if he'd broken the poor man's heart for pushing him off like that... Sherlock had been impossible with Irene Adler, who knew what would happen now?


	5. The Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This will be the last chapter for a short while I'm afraid. I hope to be able to get a few more up eventually, but all my computers are really messed up right now. So I made this chapter longer than the others in the hopes that y'all wouldn't hate me too much for not updating for a while.
> 
> As usual this was written in partnership with consultingharlequin from Tumblr.

Sherlock tried filter his thoughts, but it was as hopeless as trying to catch a single raindrop in a hurricane. Squeezing his eyes shut he raked the bow across the strings trying to drown out all of the thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm him. Did he care for John? Of course he did, but like that? There had never been any evidence to support a pairing like, well, that. His fingers flew across the strings, no longer bothering to try and keep the rhythm consistent. He just wanting his mind to be silent for a moment so he could think! Hours passed as he played song after song, yet every time he pulled his bow from his strings the thoughts came flooding back: He cared for John. He had kissed him, and worse he had done so without permission. Rejection, abhorrence, each time he replayed the scene in his head it became a little worse. Finally, near three o'clock he was exhausted enough to slip off to sleep.

Downstairs, John sat still for a good long while, most of the time without even thinking. He thought he'd know what to expect from Sherlock but this was a whole new level of strange even for the detective. It _did_ explain many things, though. Like why Angelos who knew Sherlock had expected them to be dating, and mrs. Hudson as well. Though he had already deduced why that was, right? Sherlock was gay, that much was clear. And the poor man had never been good with social situations so of course he'd misinterpretted. John stood up and took a long shower to clear his head and also get his body off the emabarrassing situation it was _still in_. How could a man have such an effect on him? Damn! After the shower he thought about talking to Sherlock, but knew better than to disturb him when he was playing. As hours passed he realized it wasn't just playing, the damn man was composing and that made John feel even worse about himself. He should have known better than to reject Sherlock like that, and that was the thought he was having even when he was laying on his bed, unable to sleep and listening to the faint music that had been going on for hours. When it stopped he sighed and stood up, making his way to knock on Sherlock's door. He'd thought about leaving it until morning, but Sherlock would just act like nothing had happened and John needed to talk to him about this.

A soft knocking sound slowly roused Sherlock from his stupor, rolling over on his side he nestled down unto his pillow assuming John would get whomever was at the door. Just as he was drifting off again the knocking increased in volume; this time it was apparent that it was his door being assaulted. Groaning lifted his head off the pillow just enough to uncover his mouth, "It's open!" He groused, not quite willing to wake up.

John turned the handle and stayed in the doorway looking at the figure lying on the bed, and by the stance of the detective's shoulders John could tell that he was sulking, not just sleeping. It was so typical of Sherlock that he felt the corner of his mouth twitch even though there was nothing funny in the situation. "Sorry to wake you, but we need to talk." He was about to stay where he was while waiting for the answer, but knowing his flatmate Sherlock wouldn't take part in the conversation if there were more than two feet between them when he was in that mood, so John stepped inside and closed the door behind him before walking to stand next to the bed.

The sound of John's footsteps approaching his bed shocked him awake slightly. Surely he wasn't going to try and talk now. He was always telling Sherlock that he needed more sleep, well now he was sleeping... Realizing he was rambling in his head he attempts to pull himself back to the present, something made much harder by the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. Perhaps I overdid it with the practicing, he thought to himself. Brushing off the thought he pulled his sheet up higher before sinking back into his pillow  
John waited for a while the man to start talking, finally sitting down on the edge of the bed as the silence continued his back straight and his hands on his lap, his gaze shifting between Sherlock and the opposite wall. He formed 'okay' with his lips and sighed. Was this what having 'the talk' with kids would feel like? The other party clamming up and he feeling extremely uncomfortable and the topic was about sex and sexuality? Christ. He took a deep breath. "Okay, look. I'm sorry for what happened earlier, but it wasn't because of you, okay? I don't want you to think that. I'm really sorry for misleading you and I'm...flattered, but...you know. And I didn't expect it. You surprised me. So. Yeah." He rubbed his neck nervously. "You'd just refuse to talk about this in the morning so I thought now would be a good time. I am very flattered but you're my friend and it wouldn't be...appropriate."

Sighing, Sherlock debating just ignoring him. Grumbling softly to himself he flipped over, propping himself on one hand to look at John. "It's not a big deal John," he said, trying to make eye contact. "It was just an experiment." Being careful to note his reactions, Sherlock went on "Besides, right now I'm rather tired." Hopefully that would be enough to get John to drop it, he didn't know how he would react to being quizzed about something he was still trying to understand.

John nodded, avoiding Sherlock's eyes. An experiment. Sure. He'd considered that option as well (in fact it had been among the first ones) but the more he thought about it the less likely it seemed. He pondered his options for a while, deciding to speak his mind. That was why he'd come, after all. "I don't think it was, Sherlock. You don't run away and spend hours composing after an experiment." Now that he'd said it aloud it seemed to resemble the case with the Woman even more. Sherlock always went on about how disadvantageous love and sentiment were but he had definitely been interested in Irene Adler and her wit, and had been a wreck when he thought he'd lost her. Of course John couldn't compare himself to the woman, but nevertheless. "And...I want you to know that it's all fine." He looked over his shoulder gesutring with his hands. "I've told you that before. It's cool. I just..was surprised. It's not because I'd dislike you, no. So don't worry about it. Okay?"

"I wasn't going to." Sherlock replied, unable to keep his voice from dropping slightly below the pitch he wanted. His mind started racing ahead, picking apart John's statements before he could help himself. Obviously John didn't want any attention, yet here he was trying to make things right, being sure he didn't hurt Sherlock's feelings; as though that was possible. Thinking back on his earlier fit, he conceded that maybe it was more possible than he first believed. Not having much experience with friends he was unsure what was just friendship, and the prospect of having to figure out two seperate kindnesses overwhelmed him. Several minutes passed without him noticing as he thought through these options.

"Of course you weren't." Silence. John crossed his ankles and waved them back and forth with his hands back in his lap, staring at the opposite wall and listening to the clock ticking as seconds and then minutes passed by. This was awkward. Sherlock wasn't making it any easier, like he never did when he felt offended. John scratched his temple once and returned then to sit still trying to come up with something to say and hoping the detective would break the silence. False hope, like always. Brat. John cleared his throat and patted Sherlock's leg through the covers. "Well then. Good talk. Just wanted to clear things up." He made a move to stand up, but hesistated. He continued quietly: "Look. I'm really sorry for reacting like that. What must you think of me..."

Pulled back to the present Sherlock looked down at the hand resting on his knee. The sight of John trying so hard to make him feel better made Sherlock pause. "I don't think any less, or more, of you than I did before John." he assured. Deciding that was surely enough of this conversation, he pushed lightly on John's shoulder to nudge him up off the bed. Clearly he didn't want to be here, he was trying to right a wrong he didn't commit. For some reason the thought teat he cared enough to be this worried brought a small smile to his face as he looked up at him.

John chuckled, though he wasn't amused. That was exactly how he'd expected Sherlock to react. All logic and obviousness and whatever. Even having his flatmate.. _react_ to him didn't seem to make him change the way he thought...or perhaps that was what Sherlock wanted him to think. Perhaps... oh, fuck it! His hand snatched to hold Sherlock's without him realizing it when he felt the touch on his shoulder, and he turned to face the man. "You really don't? Because that wasn't normal, Sherlock. Not even close."

All of a sudden John was right next to him. struggling slightly not to pull away from the sudden proximity, Sherlock looked him in the eyes. "Of course it wasn't" he remarked, "but when did you come to expect normal from me John?" For a moment nothing happened, then he realized his thoughts were still. Not on;y still, but nonexistent. He was completely right here in the moment with John. As this knowledge sank in he could feel his eyes grow slightly wider, and he pulled back from John a small amount not wanting him to read into it.

John smiled, though it faded away quickly and he stayed still with one hand on Sherlock's knee, the other holding the detective's hand in a similar way the taller man had holded his some hours earlier. His eyes were locked on Sherlock's, and slowly his thumb started caressing the delicate skin at the back of the other's hand.

Unsure of how to take this turn of events, Sherlock held still not wanting to startle John out of whatever thought he was pursuing. Because that had to be it, he was just thinking and idly moving, it was nothing more than a twitch. Unfortunately Sherlock's body didn't seem to get the message. Slowly his breathing sped up, as did his heartbeat; all he could hear was the rushing of blood through his veins. And yet still he was focused in a way he had never been before.

John bit his lower lip lost in both thought and Sherlock's eyes, as corny as it sounded, and he didn't even know why he was doing all that. He'd come to tell Sherlock not to think the rejection was his fault so they could move on with their lives and forget what had happened, yet there he was. Very much not talking, at least not what he'd intended to talk about. He tore his eyes away from Sherlock's to properly look the position they were in, and he licked his lips. This was not him moving on and forgetting about what had happened. This was the exact opposite and he should stop. "Sherlock... Why did you..?" His voice was barely a whisper and he didn't look at the man in the face.

Suddenly several things connected for him: John wasn't leaving, he didn't hate him, and in fact, he might even like him. Even just a small bit. Biting down on his bottom lip he considered John's question. He had started off out of curiosity and boredom, but something told him this wasn't the answer John wanted right now. Thinking to when he first realized John was acting strange he considered from there. "I..."his voice trailed off before he could properly start his sentence. Trying again he spoke very quietly "I noticed something different, and I... I don't know John."groaned, barely believing the situation he was in. How could he possibly tell John that he had no clue why he had kissed him. He was Sherlock Holmes, he had a reason for everything he did.

Something different? About what? Though John was sure it was because his body had betrayed him and lead the poor bastard to think it was not just because of him but also for him. Still, he nodded. "Right. I, uh..I'm sorry I..let you think that.. It won't happen again, I promise." His cheeks were red again, and this time he wasn't even sure if he believed his own words. He'd always admired Sherlock and hold him dear, but he'd never once thought there could be something more to it. At least not before. And he wasn't sure if that was what he wanted.

Sherlock deflated slightly as he realized what John was saying, the moment just now was nothing more than that: a moment. Forcing the smile back on his face he nodded slightly, not trusting his voice to remain steady. He didn't even know if he found the man attractive, why was he reacting this way? It all made no sense!

John cleared his throat and turned away from Sherlock running his fingers through his hair. God. What was he doing? He sighed and rubbed his temples. He should go now. He should really, really go now. After all that he'd said that was the only thing he could do now. But still he didn't move. It wasn't that his legs didn't obey him; he realized he didn't want to leave.

Despite the obvious end to a conversation John hadn't moved; and neither did Sherlock. A few moments passed, a few moments that felt like so much longer for the tension evident in the way that John sat, slightly hunkered down, trying to pull unto himself without realizing it. Swallowing thickly Sherlock timidly reached a hand out to him, stopping out of site, more than an inch away from his skin. Retreating slightly he looked at Johns face, turned away from his, and continued forward until his hand met Johns arm. Such a casual touch, yet it seemed like Sherlock was risking so much by doing this.

The light touch pulled John back to the reality and he turned his head to look at Sherlock. The man was oddly beautiful with his dark hare and sharp features, and that was the first time John ever thought about another man like that. Slowly, even slower than Sherlock, he moved his hand and touched the detective's with his fingertips, leaning closer without even realizing it.

Embolden by this small move, Sherlock leaned in, stopping before he encroached into Johns space. Unconsciously worrying at bottom lip, he leaned in slowly until he could feel John's breath on his lips. Keeping his eyes on the lips before him he waited to see what John would do.

John locked his fingers with Sherlock’s and moved his free hand to support his weight, his breathing turning heavy. This time he didn’t flinch or move away as Sherlock leaned closer, and he could feel his heartbeat quickening. They shared a breath for a while, John’s eyes half shut, and no matter how he tried he couldn’t bring himself to think rationally.

Frustrated with the lack of progress, and encouraged by John's reaction, Sherlock leaned forward tapping his lips against Johns. Unwilling to pull back and risk another rebuff he pressed forward, gently moving his mouth against Johns, not allowing him enough breath to say anything as he explored the other's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for shoddy editing, if you guys see anything wrong with it jsut comment and I'll fix it when i can get back online!


	6. The Consummation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice smut chapter for Christmas, hope y'all enjoy!! After this I need to wait till my computer is fixed and I have time to get back online, currently dealing with college applications so it may be a short while. ;-;
> 
> As usual this was written in partnership with consultingharlequin from Tumblr. Go follow him cause he's fabulous and amazing at RPs.

John closed his eyes as their lips met surprised by the force of it, a quiet umpf -sound escaping his throat. Sherlock truly made him feel like a bloody teenager, the soft touch of lips making his heart ask his stomach for dance. Slowly he returned the kiss and moved his free hand to Sherlock's side to caress it, even slower. He had plenty of experience with women, but next to none with men, and Sherlock was from an entirely different planet.

Gasping slightly as John ran his hand along his side, he pulled his hand back from John's arm, snaking it around the shorter man's back. Trying to use his height as leverage Sherlock moved closer to John, forcing him to tilt his head up slightly to keep their mouths in contact. 

For a moment John considered breaking the contact, but he'd already done it before and pushed Sherlock away. This time he wouldn't let that happen. Whatever it is he felt towards the man -be it love, strange friendship, affection or a feeling witohut a name, he was starting to like it. Really like it. Where had Sherlock learned to kiss like that? He shifted on the bed allowing Sherlock more control, leaving the detective's side alone and locking his fingers behind the taller man's head instead, his tongue making a quick contact with Sherlock's lips.

Despite his attempts to stay silent, Sherlock was unable to help a small groan from escaping as he felt John's fingers twine through his hair. As he deepened the kiss, Sherlock cupped the back of John's neck, stroking his thumb through the short locks. Slipping his tongue past John's lips, he flicked it across the sensitive hard palate, shivering as he hears a small moan come from John.

John parted his lips allowing Sherlock's tongue to enter, the light touch making shivers run up and down his spine and he pressed closer. He shook his fingers free from the detective's hold to grab his shoulder and support him as he moved to sit on the man's lap, a position he'd never thought he'd one day find himself in. But Sherlock seemed to know what he was doing, so it was best to let him take the lead, for now, not that it'd be a regular thing or anything.

Who was he kidding? He loved Sherlock taking control. Another pathetic sound escaped his throat and he broke the kiss for air, leaning his forehead against Sherlock's and breathing heavily.

Already he could feel himself getting stiff, made all the more obvious as John slipped into his lap, hand gripping his shoulder tightly. As John pulled away for air, he began kissing and suckling down his jaw,then the length of the other's neck; biting gently once he reached the base. As he worked small sounds of need continued to tear themselves from John's throat, only serving to arouse Sherlock even more. Pulling John more firmly into his lap, he moved his caresses further down, drawing his tongue across the collarbone just visible above his jumper.

It took John a good long while to notice the change in Sherlock, not only because he was too focused on hiding his own arousal but only because he'd never expected anything like it from his flatmate who seemed to make most monks feel ashamed. John's attempt to regain his breath turned out to be futile as the brunette attacked his very, very sensible neck pulling sounds of out him he didn't even realize he was making. It was getting hot. way too hot. He pushed Sherlock away to squirm out of his jumper and tossed the thing aside. He ran his hands down the detective's torso and used his own body weight to force the man down onto his back.

Pushed back into the pillows, Sherlock fidgeted slightly in a futile attempt to hide his sudden surge in arousal at Johns forwardness. Deciding it would probably be easier just to distract John, he renewed his assault on the others chest; running his fingers over his spine as he worked his way down. Running his tongue over one of John's nipples he began teasing into hardening, never stopping the gently movement of his hands

John settled to lay on top of Sherlock supporting his weight with his arms, shutting his eyes and letting out a long exhale of utter satisfaction as the detective started showing interest to his nipples and as he felt hands running lower. There was either no need or means to hide the state he was in, so he pressed his hips against Sherlock's knowing the brunette could feel every inch. He certainly could. John grinned and reached to nip Sherlock's ear. "I don't think that's my gun, Sherlock", he chuckled his hot breath tickling the other's ear, and he bucked his hips reacting to the light touch. 

Smiling slightly as he felt John lurch down to meet his hips, John transferred his administrations from the stiffened bud or to the other side, nipping softly trying to get another response from his partner. Sliding his hands further down John's back he tentatively slipped just the tips of his fingers under the waistband, running his hand along the width of his waste before pulling his hands back up again, savoring the small shivers it elicited. 

If someone had told John previous morning that he'd be shagging his eccentric flatmate by the night he would've either laughed or gently but firmly suggested the person to take a sick leave since their brain clearly wasn't working right. He wouldn't have believed it two hours before, either. But there he was, his body linked with Sherlock's and his hands running on the light skin, hips grinding against the detective's and his eyes misty of need; need to get closer, feel more, and the rest of the world could go fuck itself. He certainly started to have something alike in mind.

He moved downwards enough to suck marks on Sherlock's neck, his other hand sliding down to rest on the bony hip and pulling the man's pants slightly. He wasn't yet sure how far he could go, but he could try. He could definitely try.

God, John was gorgeous Sherlock thought to himself, admiring the man thrusting against him. Stiffening slightly as John suckled his neck, his hands curled of their own accord, scratching a neat row of lines into John's back. Gasping slightly as John tugged the waist of his trousers, Sherlock rolled his hips up allowing the other man to slip them down a small amount. His head fell back as calloused fingertips ran over the sensitive skin along the top of his ass, barely able to keep himself from rutting against John, desperate to ease some of the pressure building in the lowest part of his hips. 

John arched his back and a muffled moan escaped his throat as Sherlock scratched his back, his breath heavy and eyelids fluttering shut. He'd always enjoyed a little roughness in bed and could have sworn the detective used some of his amazing, irritating abilities to deduce the best way to cloud his thoughts. "Hh..Sherlock", a sigh was all he could manage before yanking the man's pants off and throwing them off the bed, settling back down next to the man. No matter how badly this strange attraction and lust had started to occupy his mind, he still wasn't quite ready to lay on top of his naked flatmate just yet. His hand returned to Sherlock's hip but didn't go any further, and John forced himself to focus and hoisted himself to lean on his free hand, locking his concerned eyes on the detective's.

"Look, Sherlock...I've never done this before. I mean, I have, but not with an another man, you know? I have no idea what I'm doing."

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts and focus on what John was saying, he just stared blankly a moment before registering the words. Of course it would be John's first time with a man, Sherlock thought to himself as he sat up, up until ten minutes ago he had fully associated as a straight man. Pulling himself out from under John, he turned to reach into his drawers, fumbling around for a moment before locating the nearly full bottle of lube. Turning back to John he cautiously set the bottle next to John, unsure of whether the man would back out now that it was clear where this would go. Leaning forward he kissed John gently, waiting for the man to relax before giving any directions, still unsure whether his flatmate truly wished to continue.

Well, Sherlock was...certainly prepared, John thought after sitting up and looked at the bottle taken slightly aback by it. The detective had always shown clear disinterest towards sex or anything sexual in general, so a part of John had thought the man would keep from going all the way. Of course he should've known Sherlock either did everything to the extreme or not at all. He took the bottle in his hand and pondered his options. Of course he'd tried anal before, but that had always been with a woman. He knew his anatomy and didn't doubt his abilities, but this was... Not that he wouldn't want it, because he did, but this... was like asking for a candy and being offered a whole shop instead. It was almost too much. 

He returned the kiss and caressed Sherlock's cheek with the knuckles of his free hand, letting it slide down to the man's shoulder and down his torso before leaning back and holding Sherlock's gaze in his own.

"Are you sure, Sherlock? This.. You want this?" 

Trembling slightly as John rasped his knuckles down across his chest, it was all he could do not to crush the other man to him and claim his lips once again. "I would have to be mad to turn you down." he murmured, reaching a hand behind Johns neck and pulling him into a chaste kiss, wanting so much more than that.  

"Right", John gasped, hoping desperately he would have something more interesting to say. He made the kiss long giving himself time to think while enjoying the softness of Sherlock's lips and the force behind them. Sherlock was definitely not a woman nor could John ever compare him to one, but the basic act was pretty much the same be it with a man or woman. That was all he needed to know, right? There was no need to make it a big deal -or any bigger than it was- by freaking out just because his partner's gender was different. And god, he wanted Sherlock. Not because of his involuntary celibacy (he was above that) but because somehow in his subconsciousness he'd fallen in love a long time ago.

"Okay, then." He pushed Sherlock back down and pulled the man's legs around his waist before using the lube to slick his palm and fingers, his eyes locked in the detective's as he brought his hand down to the man's length, slowly palming it and sighing as he did so.

Hissing slightly at the chill of the lube on Johns fingers, Sherlock allowed his head to fall back loosely on his shoulders, swept up by the current of pleasure now invading his body. Unfortunately it had been a long while since he'd had the inclination to be with anyone intimately and no matter how hoard he tried, the pressure quickly built up. John's name was torn from his throat in little gasps as he moved his hips, wanting to get closer, have more, dying for John to go further than he was. 

John's breathing had become clearly audible and barely realizing it himself he'd started rocking his hips against Sherlock's as his hand sped up, the soft moans escaping from the other man's throat making his heart leap and heat rush through his entire body. He'd been wanted before, but this time it was Sherlock, and being wanted by that man was like winning an Oscar. Only better. The prize wouldn't cry his name like it's the only word it can remember. John reached down to kiss the detective roughly before moving back to throw off the rest of his close, settling then back to his former position. He gave himself a couple of tugs before joining his hips with Sherlock's. He took the man's hand to his own shaking one and guided the long, delicate fingers to wrap around them both, returning to kiss the man. He could feel Sherlock's muscles trembling, but he didn't want this to be over just yet. Sherlock better shut up and bear with it. Wait. On a second though...not shut up. Definitely not shut up.

Running his thumb over John's glans Sherlock firmly grasped their pricks, trying to focus his energy on pleasing John. After just a few seconds he decided it simply wasn't enough. "Oh, God John. Just fuck me already!" he growled, burying his face in John's hair. Wrapping both his hands around John's waist he tried to stay still, the twitching of his hips only serving to make his need nearly unbearable.

  
_So much for taking this slow_ , John thought and held back a chuckle, though lifting his eyebrow as a comment for the detective's impatience and twisted his hand that was still stroking Sherlock. The man was just as brilliant and amazing in bed as he was in his job, and just as demanding. The corner of John's lips curled up and he pressed a light kiss on the detective's collar bone before moving aside, reaching his fingers under the man and thrusting a finger inside forgetting about slow preparing. As always, it was best not to argue with the man. The stunts Sherlock pulled during his cases were bad enough and John wasn't quite ready for unleashing whatever devil it was that lived under the man's skin during their first night together. He moved his finger gently, working the man open for another finger to enter, his lips teasing the skin near Sherlock's ear. There was one small but quite important thing he'd just remembered, and he felt a little ashamed for taking so long. 

"You, uh... You don't happen to have a condom, do you?"

Tensing as John's finger entered him, Sherlock groaned softly, stretching too quickly. Breathing deeply for a moment before speaking, Sherlock almost managed  
to keep his voice steady "Middle drawer." He rasped, holding onto the sheets below him. He could feel John twisting and stroking inside him continuously, the feeling quickly becoming the only thing he could focus on.

Middle drawer. Right. John gave the man a hasty kiss before reaching out to open the drawer and fumbled for the condom unable to avert his eyes from the pale figure. He searched for the certain spot for a moment and crooked his fingers, massaging the prostrate lightly and tore open the small package found in the drawer with his teeth. He dropped the condom twice before finally managing to put it on. Whoever claimed that sex with a bloody demigod didn't make anyone clumsy had no idea what they were talking about. He thrust his fingers as deep as he could before removing them and made use of the lube before settling back between the man's legs. Carefully he thrust in, swallowing a low moan.

Sherlock could feel every inch of John slide into him slowly, twitching slightly as the tip pushed past the ring of muscle. Automatically pushing his hips up towards John, he allowed his eyes to flicker shut, intent on memorizing everything he could about this moment. He felt his back arch back into the mattress, allowing John to plunge deeper, each thrust taking away his breath and causing small spams to wrack his body. Breathing heavily he fought to keep quiet, the pressure of John's fingers pressing into his hips causing equal portions of pain and pleasure as he thrust shallowly.

Sherlock was beautiful. Damn all sense and expressions usually looking ridiculous during sex and what adjectives were supposed to be used of a man and whatever, but the man was beautiful. John had neglected having his hair cut and it had now grown long enough to almost stuck to his forehead as he kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock's face, moving his hips in steady pace. Sherlock could go to hell with his demands for fucking, he was John Three bloody Continent Watson and he'd make love to this irritating man and damn all quick shags to Hell and Sherlock better get used to the idea. John moved his one hand to the detective's lenght and rubbed it in a rhythm with his thrusts.

With every movement, Sherlock could feel his control slipping. Every part of him was completely alive and focused on John, sweating above him. For a few moments he allowed himself to relish the feeling of being dominated, each movement decided by another. Opening his eyes he found John's gaze locked on his own, desire clearly visible. John's hand moved to his erected, pumping it as he thrust, forcing a moan from Sherlock. "God John." he groaned, marveling at the skill with which the doctor had managed to bring him to the point of near incoherency.

The hand that had been gripping Sherlock's hip moved to his shoulder, nails pressing into the pale skin as John tried to get even closer, his breathing quick and heavy and sweat glistening on his back. Small sounds of pleasure were mixed with sighs of the detective's name, John's eyes fluttering shut. Heat centered in his stomach and loins, and to his embarrassment it was quite clear he wouldn't last long. He started working his hand faster, adding pressure with his thumb, the doctor's every thought focusing on Sherlock and the sheer ecstacy.

Jerking at the sudden onslaught, Sherlock felt himself being pushed to the edge of his control. Groaning he tried to warn John, the sentence coming out in fractured pieces, never quite intelligible. Tensing as his orgasm rolled through him, Sherlock came in great spurts, making a mess of both the men.  

John's ability to rational thinking was long gone and so he missed the warning, believing he'd soon need to utter one himself. Muscles suddenly tensing around him tore a yelp from John's throat and he paused, eyes closed tightly and biting his lower lip at the sensation. Once Sherlock relaxed again he finished with few thrusts, squeezing the taller man's shoulder and hip at the time of his orgasm so hard his fingers were sure to leave bruises, his moan just as fractured as Sherlock's words had been. He had just enough strenght left to pull out before collapsing next to the man panting heavily, sweaty and limp and completely satisfied.

As John fell beside him, Sherlock was tempted to reach around and pull him close, but he was unsure of whether this attention would be welcomed. Fearing to push John away he simply stayed where he was, turned towards him, but not daring to touch. Sighing, he stood to go get a washcloth from the restroom, praying John wouldn't decide to leave in his absence.

John ran a hand down his face wiping off sweat and also to clear the mist from his thoughts. The weary smile he gave to Sherlock while regaining his breath faded slightly when Sherlock got up and left the room, and for a moment he felt like a cold fist grasping his chest. It had all happened because of -or thanks to- the detective, but it was possible that it was too much afterall. Sherlock had never shown any interest towards sex so maybe John had made a mistake when he agreed to... God. He pushed himself upright, pulled off the condom and dropped it in the bin as he walked past it, following Sherlock to the restroom door leaning against the frame, trace of worry in his look. "You okay?"

Startled by John's voice, Sherlock nearly dropped the washcloth he was wiping over his chest. "I'm fine, just cleaning off." he replied, turning to face his flatmate. He had nearly finished wiping the semen off himself, so he ran it across himself once last time before rinsing it and turned to put it in the dirty bin, grabbing another for John. Wetting it down with warm water, he held it out, not daring to come too close yet wanting to go over and clean the shorter man off himself, running the cloth gently over every portion of him he could reach.

John nodded, relief passing by his face. Of course. He needed some cleaning himself. There was nothing to worry about. His eyes followed the cloth's movement across Sherlock's chest and darted once or twice lower as well, admiring the genious's naked form. For a man with irregular habits and who rarely exercised Sherlock was in a rather good shape. Very good, in fact. John smiled and stepped in closer when the towel was offered, taking Sherlock's hand instead of the textile and guiding it to rest against his chest. Call it romantic, overly so or even slightly perverted if needed, but he wanted to be cleaned off by this man, just to get touched by him some more.

Surprised by the motion, Sherlock's hand jerked back slightly before the cloth had touched John. Once it was obvious what John wanted however, he was only too happy to oblige. Slowly cleaning off John's chest he kept his eyes on his hand, now the only one controlling it as John has allowed his own to fall to his side. Working his way down he paused a moment at John's navel, taking a little more time than necessary before wiping off the last traces of their activities. Somehow during this the two men had wound up right in front of one another, a fact Sherlock only registered once he finished.

The pleasantly warm cloth left drops of water running down John's torso and thighs, and the man sighed relacing under the touch that was close to a massage. He chuckled quietly when Sherlock rubbed his lower stomach and raised his hands to rest on the taller man's elbows stepping closer until he could breath the detective's scent. He didn't look at Sherlock when the cleaning stopped, leaning closer instead and placed light kisses to the spot where Sherlock's neck met his shoulder. His previous confusion was waking up again. He'd told Sherlock he didn't swing that way, and yet here they were. None of them did things like this on a regular basis.  
"What does this make us?" He murmured against Sherlock's skin. "Lovers, boyfriends, friends with benefits?"

Leaning his head slightly to the side to allow John better access, Sherlock sighed with contentment. Settling his hands on John's hips he replied hesitantly, "I'm not sure. I suppose we will just have to wait and see." Pulling away Sherlock tugged John in the direction of the bedroom, lying down on the bed, and carefully pulling him so that John was lying in front of him. Carefully arranging their limbs, Sherlock watched carefully for any sign that John wished to pull away, finally settling back and resting his chin on the top of John's head.

John smiled, running his hands along Sherlock's arms and behind his back to embrace the man. Wait and see... Perhaps that was the best option for now. As he'd thought many times before this was quite new for both of them and it was best not to make hasty decisions. He followed Sherlock back to the bedroom like a dog settling next to him on the bed, chuckling under his breath at the cuddling, it revealing a side of his flatmate he hadn't known even existed. Not that he'd mind, far from it. John was a romantic in nature and a cuddler as well. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and nudged closer towards the body heat, resting his head on the taller man's shoulder. His fingers drew patterns drowsily on the detective's chest. It was still hard for him to believe what he'd just done. "Well...that... That escalated very quickly."  He buried his face into Sherlock's shoulder to muffle his laugh. There goes his heterosexuality, so long and thanks for all the fish!

Smiling into John's hair, Sherlock considered the statement. "Not that that's a bad thing." he murmured, starting to doze off, the feeling of John's fingers brushing across his chest doing little to keep him coherent. Yawning, he blinked rappidly, struggling to stay awake a bit longer. Between the hours of music earlier and the recent developments he was completely spent, it certainly didn't help that he had slept very little in the past few days, preferring to work on experiments through the night.

The ridiculous smile wouldn't leave his face. "No", he murmured, settling into a more comfortable position with a pleased sigh. "It's not." He closed his eyes letting his body relax and listened to Sherlock's heartbeats mixing with his own. It had been a long day and this...this could pretty much be the perfect place to fall asleep in. His sexuality could be defined later, if possible or if it even needed definition. It didn't take long for him to doze off, his chest rising and falling steadily. No matter how well he had slept these past few nights it was nothing compared to the comfort provided by another person.


	7. The Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are entirely mine.

The first thing Sherlock noticed upon waking was the heavy weight trapping his hips to the bed. For a moment he panicked, unable to figure out why there would be another person in his space. As he involuntarily tensed John stirred from behind him, a soft puff of air caressing Sherlock's neck as he yawned.

Just like that the night before came rushing back and he stilled, unsure of what to do with this new arrangement. Just hours before they had been nothing but flatmates and now here they were sharing the same bed after having had sex the night before. It was enough to make even him dizzy. What was he supposed to do? Should he try to slip out of bed, or would that make John upset to wake up alone? Should he just stay here? What if it was all a mistake? Perhaps John had just slept with him out of pity.... Sherlock's mind whirled through the many possibilities and questions, each one more devastating than the last until he was entirely unable to move, paralyzed with the fear that whatever he chose would be the wrong answer.

Slowly John woke, unaware of the silent struggle going on below him as he struggled to open his eyes. Even after years in the military he could never say he was truly a morning person, each day was a struggle just to get his body up and moving. Of course it might help if there wasn't a daft git dragging me around London all hours of the night he thought to himself, nuzzling into the neck of the detective. Feeling how tense the other man was John frowned slightly. Sherlock was completely immobile, scarcely breathing as though he were afraid to attract John's attention. Suddenly it hit him: Sherlock didn't want him there. This situation was obviously making the younger man uncomfortable and John quickly scooted back, cursing himself for thinking that perhaps their situation had changed enough for the detective to actually want him to stay. 

"Shit. I'm sorry, I'll, ah. I'll just go." John stuttered out, eyes kept low as he stumbled out of the room, pulling on his trousers as he went.

Rolling over in the bed once John had left Sherlock frowned at the empty room. Something about John's retreat wasn't right. Before when his partners had left they'd always done so with a smugness about them, or disgust rolling off their bodies so that it was practically tangible. John had seemed... worried. Perhaps embarrassed even. Firmly pushing his own emotions to the side Sherlock worked to sort through the information provided, occasionally pulling data from memories firmly lodged near the back of his mind palace, rarely revisited. 

After a few minutes he heard the clatter of pipes as John ran water down in the kitchen, obviously filling the kettle for his morning tea. Crawling out of bed he hunted around for his robe, finally spotting it underneath a pile of books he had abandoned the other day. Pulling it on he slowly made his way into the kitchen, eyes gliding over John on his way to the living room. Ignoring the other man completely, or as completely as he could while still cataloging his every movement anyway, Sherlock sat at his desk and booted up the laptop in front of him. 

After logging in he heard John come into the living room, stopping when he saw Sherlock sitting at the desk, looking for all the world as if he hadn't just woken up in the arms of his flat mate. 

"Is that my computer?" John asked, though by this point the resignation in his voice far outweighed the incredulity. 

Not bothering to fully dignify the question with a full affirmation Sherlock merely hummed slightly as he began sorting through his email. John never did bother logging him out, obviously realizing that it would do little good. it had always pleased him that John thought enough on it to log him back in any time he bothered checking his own mail. However today that pleasure was tinted with the reminder that perhaps he didn't care as much as Sherlock had begun to hope. 

Behind him John settled into his chair, noisily shuffling the newspaper as he did so. for several moments there was silence in the small apartment, both men trying to pretend that they were unconcerned with the other's presence. Finally John broke the silence:

"I don't suppose you're wanting to talk about it then?" he asked, trying to hide the hope in his voice. He really did hope that he had misread the signs this morning, after all, Sherlock had seemed rather happy with the idea of them last night. Maybe he just wasn't used to sharing his bed. It wouldn't be that far out of character, the man would scarcely lend you his phone if he didn't feel he had to. 

"Nope." Sherlock responded, popping the word slightly as his fingers froze over the keypad. 

"Alright. Well, I would rather like to address the elephant in the room if you don't mind." John continued, undeterred by the dismissal in Sherlock's voice. When he didn't receive a response John continued. "I mean it would be rather nice to know where we stand Sherlock. One minute you act like you might actually want to be with me, then the next you're tensing up like you can't stand me near. It's all a bit confusing to be honest with you." He snapped, the words spilling out harsher than he had intended. 

Taking a deep breath he tried to calm himself. "If you want to pretend last night didn't happen we can do that." John promised, "but only after you explain." he finished, unable to see the confusion on Sherlocks face. 

It seemed as though John were actually hurt by something he had done this morning Sherlock realized. Running through the events quickly he tried to see why John would be yelling at him when he hadn't done anything wrong this time. Shooting the walls? Sure. Accidentally insulting Molly? Sure, each of those he was able to understand why John had reprimanded him, but right now he was the victim! Not John!

"Fine." he bit out, spinning around in his chair so he was straddling the back of it. Leaning forward so his arms were crossed on the top he looked down at the blond. "Let's talk about how you rushed out of the room so fast one would assume you were trying to escape a murderer. Or how you only accepted my advance after clearly rejecting me the first time. It does make one wonder if you truly wished to be with me at all, or perhaps you had only done so out of pity!" he snapped, biting off the last word in an attempt to keep his weaker emotions down. At this point the anger was very close to being overwhelmed by tears. He hadn't cried since he was child, and he certainly wasn't going to let John Watson see him do so.

John's mouth was hanging open, the look of shock on his face only serving to enrage Sherlock further. "What?" he asked harshly, not liking the traces of amusement beginning to show on his friend's face. 

"You bloody idiot!" John laughed, his face relaxing for the first time that morning. "I didn't leave because I didn't want you. You were curled in on yourself when I woke up. Nothing there indicated that you wanted me anywhere near you." he said, settling back into his chair a bit as he spoke. "After all, you've never particularly liked people around you. I just assumed you wanted me to go away." John finished, trying to muffle his giggles as Sherlock's face morphed into confusion. It was so rare for the detective to be completely wrong about something that John was certain the detective had no clue what to do now that he was confronted with his own fallibility.

Sherlock simply sat there for several seconds, the full implication of John's words taking him by surprise. When nearly a minute had gone by without any movement from him John began to get concerned.

"Sherlock?" he tried, the smile quickly fading from his face as he realized something was wrong. "Sherlock? What's wrong?" he asked gently finally managing to shake the other man out of his stupor.

"Nothing." Sherlock responded quickly swallowing a few times when his voice came out far brighter than he had intended.

Worried John simply stared at the younger man, waiting a few moments for an answer. It soon became apparent that Sherlock wasn't going to be providing anything else so John sighed and gave in.

"I expect more of an answer than that." John said firmly, not taking his gaze off the detective.

Grumbling slightly, Sherlock ran his hands through his hair working to pull the memories he needed to the front of his mind. Though he had tried his hardest to avoid these memories each one was as crisp as anything else in his palace. Each colour and sound as easy to follow as the day he had first stored them. And as he revisited them he discovered each one still contained all the sorrow he had felt those days as well.

“Surely by now you’ve realized I’m not, wasn’t, as sexually inactive as you tend to assume.” he started, shushing John when he went to speak. “However.... not many of my experiences were very good. Many times my partners would leave quickly, occasionally when the thought I was asleep. “ Here he had to pause for a moment, the image of John retreating just as so many others had still fresh in his mind. Memories of past lovers doing the same overlaid the image until it was hard to tell them apart. 

John relaxed back into his chair, struck by how vulnerable Sherlock looked in this moment. Sherlock was trying very hard to keep his voice calm, nearly flippant about the whole thing; as though John would merely shrug and accept the explanation. Waiting to see if the detective would continue John waited in silence for a moment before speaking up.

“Alright.” nodding to himself he considered for a moment. “Come here.” he ordered and Sherlock startled slightly, staring at him. “Come on then.” he encouraged, holding his arms out slightly. He wasn’t going ot force the man to come, but hopefully curiosity would once again get the better of him.

“What are you doing John?” Sherlock asked, bemused by his behavior. He had just admitted something that not even Mycroft knew and John was trying to.... hug him?

“Just come here you git.” John said, trying not to smile. Tentatively Sherlock stepped close enough that John could reach out and touch him. Before he could move away John quickly reached up and yanked on his robe until the taller man was firmly wedged onto his lap.

The sudden movement made the world spin for a second and before he could struggle Sherlock found that he was quite firmly trapped where he was, John’s arms having twined their way around his back, clutching the back of his robe slightly.

“For God’s sake John! What are you doing?” he snapped, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. 

Laughing at the indignant look on Sherlock’s face John merely hugged him tighter. “From what you’ve said I assume you haven’t really cuddled much then?” he asked, voice carefully neutral.

“Cuddle?” Sherlock repeated, voice dripping with condescension even now. “No I haven’t ‘cuddled’ and now really doesn’t seem to be the time for this John.” he insisted, giving up his struggles in favor of simply glaring down at the doctor.

“Right now seems to be the perfect time.” he hummed back. John huffed slightly as Sherlock’s elbow ground into his side and tried to shift the man a bit to the right. The bastard was heavier than he looked and certainly wasn’t in the mood to be congenial. 

“Look, I don’t care of this insults your dignity or whatever, but you are going to have to get used to the idea that not everyone is going to leave you. Your stuck with me for awhile.” John said, pressing his face into Sherlock’s shoulder. 

Sherlock went still under him and for a moment John worried that he had overstepped his bounds. Sherlock had never said that he wanted to pursue anything, but he had just looked so lost as he stood there. 

A few seconds passed and John was about to let go when he felt Sherlock slowly loosen up until he was leaning most of his weight against John’s chest. 

“All right?” he asked softly, voice muffled.

“....yea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient with me, I am afraid there was a bunch of stuff in my life forcing me to take a break from writing and RPing and it really means a lot that you took the time to read my stuff, y'alls comments really helped force me to get my butt in gear and start up again. Hopefully I will be able to post a little more often now and I currently have several projects underway for everyone that has been so wonderful in getting me back on my feet. Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the somewhat anticlimactic ending, I really couldn't figure this one out. fluff doesn't come naturally to me.


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